The Human Side
by lenageek
Summary: Takes place after The Demon Hand. Sarah tells John the secret that's been tormenting her.


**Disclaimer:** The story and characters of _Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles_ belong to James Cameron, Gale Anne Hurd, Josh Friedman, C2 Pictures, Warner Brothers Television, FOX, etc. No copyright infringement is intended - I'm not making any money, just borrowing them for a few minutes.

**Author Note:** I kept waiting for Sarah to tell John that she knew she died of cancer when they jumped through time, and wondered what that conversation would be like. In the show, it took until the end of the second season until he finally knew. I just wish they'd had a chance to discuss it more at length.

I sit outside in my usual place on the swing set, slowly swaying back and forth. The wind picks up and sifts my hair, causing my bangs to fly into my eyes. Irritated, I toss my head back so I can see again. You never know when you'll have to have your vision clear – to scan your surroundings for threats, to sight a target through a gun scope, or to find your child in the midst of a crowd.

The sky is quickly being covered in mottled grey clouds, and it's getting darker by the minute, which matches my mood perfectly. Charley said there was a storm coming. He didn't know that it's already here. I know. I've known for a long time.

Thank god the air is cool out here. I'd come out for a much needed breath of fresh air after destroying the hand. The thermite burned so hot and so strong, that I can still feel the acrid bitterness on the back of my tongue and in my lungs when I breathe. It's like I can still taste the machine inside of me. That figurative gun in my head, the metal that's pursued me almost half of my life is _in_ me – it's a part of me, seeping through my pores. It makes me feel sick and reassured at the same time. If the machine is in me, I can study it, still know how to defeat it.

That's my routine. Act like a machine, think like a machine, in order to beat one. This dilapidated swing set that came with the house would normally be a place of joy and a safe haven for children to play. Instead, I look at everything in my environment as how to use it as a tool to prepare myself and my son for the war. A bed becomes a place to hide weapons, a table a makeshift surgery and a swing set a part of an exercise regimen. I do pull ups out here by the dozens, like the machine I am…inhale, up…exhale, down. Over and over until my arms burn with exhaustion.

But not today. Now the machine in me is broken, faltering because of the side of me I can't turn off. The part of me that's a mother that loves her son, that part of me who's stomach knots in fear every time I see him leave my sight. I used to be so angry and so scared, to be forced from going to a fucking waitress, a nobody, really, to a warrior. Then I realized I had to prepare, become a fighter, a leader, or be killed. Simple as that. And the machine in me was born. But again, all machines, and all humans, falter.

Today, the human in me was shattered into pieces – not by the machines but the very person I swore to protect. I found out there are truly worse things than being shot, being impaled by a metal spike or chased by a living nightmare. When John said he knew the day of my escape from the hospital as the day I gave up being his mother, I felt the breath leave my lungs as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room. Those mere words tore my psyche into shreds, worse than a combination of all the physical pain I've ever gone through. I felt like I'd done so much to prepare him for the war, but had failed in every other way as a mother and a human being. But he didn't know that I was trying to protect him as always.

All the seemingly endless years of psych therapy, of being forced to stare at Silberman's smug, disbelieving face. Being drugged, restrained, and beaten more times than I could count, all the while staring at the painfully pristine four white walls, wondering, why don't they believe me? Was my son safe? When would the machines return? In the midst of thorzine drug induced dreams and painful shocks from stun batons that jolted my body inside and out, an insane idea occurred to me. If I signed my son away, gave him a chance to legally get a new name, a new mother, it could be another way, however small, to protect him. To keep him one more step removed from the machines.

Yet as soon as the social worker left and the door clicked shut, I broke down and cried as never before. The orderlies, in a rare moment of levity, simply took me back to my room without straps or handcuffs where I curled up in bed, sobbing as if I'd break in half. I know that I'd made the cruelest of mistakes. And worse yet, that a stroke of my signature on a piece of paper was as meaningless as what it was printed on. John being legally disowned from me would do nothing. He was my son. _My son_. Mine alone. Only I could protect him from the horrors that were inevitable to come. The tears disappeared as soon as they had come. Resolute, I swung my legs off the bed, waiting. The review with Silberman was to come in a few hours, and I would be ready. To see my son that very night, or die trying.

Of course, things did work out that way – well, sort of. Having John show up, thinking along the same lines, with a machine in tow that was supposedly on 'our side' certainly wasn't in the script. Neither was having this happen all over again, with T-888s wherever we turn and another machine that says it's here to help us. Or having my son hate me. Whatever has happened to me or will happen in the future, that's the most frightening thing of all.

John said he'd always find me, and it's a forgiveness of sorts, but I know it's only the beginning. I know the wounds we've inflicted on each other today will take a long time to heal. I just hope we have enough time for that to become a reality. For the longest time, I didn't care what happened to me, just as long as John grew up into the leader I know he can be. Now, after today, I know that I don't want to die from a bullet or cancer until I tell John everything. To learn to be honest with him, no matter what the cost. The alternative is just too painful.

I take a deep breath and steel myself as I stand up to go back into the house. As I'm about to go up the porch stairs, John comes out and nearly collides with me. Ever the mother, I reach for his arm to keep him from what would have been a nasty spill on the wooden steps.

"Whoa! Sorry, mom." He regains his balance and pulls away. I notice that he's at least not tensing up at my touch, which I hope is a good sign. "I was just coming out here to check on – I mean, see what you were up to. You've been out here for over an hour."

I smile to myself, secretly finding his words endearing. Ever the teenager trying to be the tough guy, he can't show me that he's been worried about his mom. "Thanks." Another deep breath. "Can we talk for a second?"

Instantly, his eyes darken, and I know I've lost whatever levity I hoped for in this attempt at conversation. "Why? Mom, we've talked enough for one day, don't you think?" his voice is bitter and weary at the same time, grating on my ears.

"John, please…" My voice fades away as he turns and stalks across the yard.

"I'm going out. I'll be back later."

"John, stop!" I inject steel into my voice, making sure that he knows I'm serious. I see his shoulders slump as he stops in his tracks, refusing to look at me. I cross over to him and grasp him by the shoulder, trying to meet his eyes.

"You gonna order me around like a soldier now? I thought I was supposed to be the leader." He's pissed, but I know he's lashing out of me because of much deeper issues besides mere teenage rebelliousness. God knows I've given him more issues than any human being should have to worry about.

"No. I'm sorry." I purposely gentle my voice as he finally looks at me. "I just wanted to say…after today, I don't want to keep things from you anymore. I made a mistake, the biggest one of my life signing that paper. I want you to know that I realize that. And that I should have told you."

He sighs, resigned. "For my protection again, huh?"

"Yes. That's what I intended it to be, nothing else. I thought of you, loved you, every day that I was in that place. I never truly wanted to give you up." My eyes meet his, and I hope he can read my unspoken plea of how much I want him to believe me.

"I know, mom." I heave a huge sigh of relief at these words, my knees turning to water. "Derek told me – you know, how much being in prison messes with your head. I can't even imagine what you had to go through for me."

"I'd do it all again if it meant you were safe." I feel the words ringing true in every fiber of my being as I say them. I'm unable to restrain myself as I embrace John in a crushing hug, almost in tears of joy as I feel him hugging me back. "I'd do anything for you John. That's what a mom does."

"Even if there weren't any damn machines on our ass?" He laughs at last, a sound any mother can't get enough of.

"Especially that." I let him go and catch his eye again. "John, when you become a parent, you realize that you would do anything for your child, no matter what situation you're in. I don't love you just because I'm protecting you. I love you because you're my son."

John gives me a toothy grin. "Who would have known that you're such a mushball?"

I smile along with him. "No one. Just remember, I'm still your mother. I can still ground you, field strip a rifle blindfolded in under a minute and be a real bitch when I want to!"

"Okay, okay!" John relents, his palms up in a mock surrendering gesture. "Point taken." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "So, what's this deep talk you want to have? Is this round two?"

Suddenly, I feel the fear rising up, threatening to choke me. How many more shocks, how many more devastating revelations can I put my son through? Is it fair to him? I swallow and look into John's eyes and see what some call an old soul in there. A strength, a wisdom beyond his years. And his father, Kyle Reese. I nod to myself, accepting that I can't turn back now. For my sake, for my son's, he has to know what lies ahead so he can survive.

"Come here." I take his hand and lead him to the swing set where we sit side by side. "Do you remember several weeks ago when we talked in the kitchen? I was cleaning the guns and…" _Come on, on your feet, soldier!_ I hear Kyle's voice in my head, urging me on. "You could tell something was wrong. You asked me, but I wouldn't tell you."

John's brow furrows as he recalls the night in question. "Um…yeah, I remember. You did what I call the 'needy mom' thing again when you hugged me." He grins, taking the sting out of his comment. "You said you loved me. I remember that night because I know you don't say it too often."

"I'm sorry –" I start to apologize, feeling absolutely horrible and less of a mother than ever.

"Hey, I wasn't finished." John protests. "But when you say it, I know you mean it. That's what makes it special. Saying stuff when you're genuine means a lot more than just faking it all the time."

"I'm glad you approve." I look down, focusing on my clasped hands, which I am willing with every ounce of energy I have not to shake uncontrollably. "I'd just learned something that day. Something Cameron told me about why we traveled through time."

"Okay." I can hear the apprehension building in his voice, but to his credit, John sits quietly and lets me finish.

"When I asked Cameron why we jumped at all, she said I wouldn't have had the entire seven years to get ready for the war. She said I'd had cancer…that I died December 4, 2005. I asked her if that's why you'd sent her here – to jump over my death. Cameron said we were here to fight. That's all the information she had."

I finish and hold my breath, finally finding the guts to look into my son's face. John's deep green eyes which I've always said are a direct reflection of my own are filled with tears. I can practically feel my heart shattering at the sight, pumping in raw, unfiltered pain through my veins instead of blood.

"John…" I hold my hand out to him, even though I know my words are a useless platitude at this point. I'm not surprised when he violently shoves his body away from the seat he's in and leans against the support pole of the swing set, his back to me.

"So it all makes sense now." His voice is low, but I can catch a hint of a tremor in it. "I knew you were holding something back for weeks, but I just couldn't figure it out. Your workouts are more intense than normal, all the vitamins…everything just clicks."

I move to see John's face in profile and do indeed a tear streaming down his cheek, even if his voice and body remain relatively passive. Suddenly he lashes out, slamming his fist hard against the pole. "Dammit, mom! What the fuck ever happened to 'no fate but what we make'! What's the point?"

I move to catch him just as his knees give way and he crumples to the ground. For a moment, he's once again a scared boy of two years old who's just scraped his knee on the playground, looking to his mother to make everything right again in his world.

"John…" I take his face into my hands, willing the force of my gaze to pierce right into his eyes and into his soul. "You listen to me. I've decided to fight. In more ways than one. Not just against the machines. Do you understand?"

For a moment, my son tries to break free from my grasp, crying openly now. "I don't give a fuck about the machines, Skynet or the mission, I care about you! You think you're the only one who has nightmares? Well mine are the same as yours, except you die instead of me!"

"I…I'm sorry John, I never knew…" For a moment, I'm shocked into silence. Sometimes I'm so single minded, I forget that the curse of knowing the future of a world ravaged by machines isn't just mine, it is my son's. Why shouldn't his dreams be as bad as mine? I've passed on to him more than genetics, flesh, bones and blood – he's inherited this nightmare as well.

I feel John take a breath as he struggles to get his emotions under control. "You know how many times I've wondered why no one from the future mentions you by name? They refer to you as a legend, like you're some dream from a past life. Because it seems like the great Sarah Connor always dies, no matter how the future turns up."

My tears join my son's as my hand moves to smooth his hair back. "But to me, you're my mom. These people, this army that reveres you, won't understand that I'll loose my mom. And I'm not ready for that. I don't know if I'll ever be."

"I know." My voice is horse with emotion. "I'm not trying to prepare you for that John. I didn't want to make things worse for you by telling you what I did tonight. I just wanted to be honest with you. And the most truthful thing I can tell you is that I'll do everything I can to stay with you. I'm not going to leave you if there's anything I can do about it."

John manages a wan smile. I can feel the energy draining out of both of our bodies, this conversation having exhausted us. "I love you, mom. I just wanted you to know that."

"I always have. But it's nice to hear you say it too."

He laughs shakily as we part and stand up. "Hey…" he bites the bottom of his lip, contemplating. "Mom, what can I do for you? I mean, you've given me weapons and combat training since I could walk. I just wish I knew what to do with this…this new information. This is new territory for me."

"Me too." I reach and put what I hope is a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I've been trying to think ahead a few steps, to take precautions. Some of those trips I made weren't always recon missions. I've been checked out, poked and prodded more times than I care to count already. The doctor I've seen seems to be a really thorough, good man. I've got no risk factors so far."

"That's a relief." John gives me a real smile at last. "You're not gonna make me eat all that weird stuff I've been seeing in the fridge like kale, mustard greens and all that crap, are you?"

"Hey! If I have to, you have to. You can't just live on pancakes you know."

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe I should learn how to cook then, so I don't have to eat when you experiment with food." The last John said under his breath, but I still heard his teasing comment.

"Well, I had no idea I raised such a smartass!" I joke and gesture with my head towards the street. "So, are you still going out?"

"No." John looks at me, his eyes softening. "After what we just talked about, I'd actually like to stay and hang out with you tonight."

"I'd like that. Come on. Let's see if there are any decent movies on TV. A comedy's in order I think."

I turn to go into the house when I feel John pull me into a desperate embrace, holding on with everything he has. I feel his need, his desire for things to stay as they are in this perfect moment. Right now, there's no machines, no war, just this connection between a mother and her son.

"I'm not going to tell you not to worry John." I whisper in his ear. "But I'll tell you again, I'll be with you, no matter what happens. I'll always find you." I repeat these words from earlier in the day, knowing that they have even more gravity than ever before.

John doesn't say anything, but I feel him nod against my chest as I continue to hold him. And I know now – I don't have to worry about whether the machine in me will someday eat me alive. As long as I have my son's love and he has mine, the human side will always win.


End file.
